Resistance
by firefly910
Summary: His gaze locked with hers and it was almost as if he'd performed a body binding spell. His eyes were full of shadows. "That's the thing," he said his arm stretched out, as if he could close the chasm between them with his reach. "Sometimes resistance is futile."


"Please tell me you are here to give me an update Holloway?' Hermione asked pinching the bridge of her nose, not looking up from the notes she had been reading for the past three hours. After a beat or two with no answer she looked up. Holloway was red faced and panting. A knot of worry curled in her stomach. "Holloway?" she asked again trying to hide the hitch in her voice.

"Miss Granger," Holloway finally managed to get out in between puffs of breath. Hermione inclined her head, encouraging him to carry on. "I tried to find Potter but -"

"Spit it out Holloway" she snapped, trying not to flinch at the harshness of her tone. Holloway swallowed, his breathing slowing to a normal speed.

"Our detector wards picked up some unusual activity about five miles out west a couple of hours ago. We were monitoring it for a wile and whatever it was disappeared. However, Grant just apparated in after finishing his latest patrol"

Hermione let out a small sigh, the young man was clearly skirting around what he had actually been sent to tell her. "Did they find something?" she asked, being sure to sound a little more encouraging. He nodded in answer, wiping the sweat from his top lip.

"Grant and Davison tracked the activity, went out to the area to do a sweep. Like I said I wanted to find Potter to tell him first but -"

Patience wearing thin Hermione shoved her chair back and stalked over to Holloway. "For Merlin's sake just get it out! If you tell me I can get Harry." She attempted to sound reassuring but a hint of frustration found its way into her voice and she saw Holloway flinch.

"They found two people just outside the boundary. Both of them were severely injured but they managed to get to them before they both passed out. They identified themselves as fugitives but refused to say much more than that, specifically asking for Potter. They've been taken to the infirmary. Grant told me I was to find Potter and tell him."

Hermione's mind was racing, they weren't expecting any arrivals for the next three days. Whoever it was had not approached from the right direction so it couldn't be a recorded arrival. "Thank you for coming to me, I will try and locate Harry to let him know. Please could you go to the main building and inform the others." She gathered up her jacket and pushed passed the stationary wizard. "I'm going to go over to the infirmary and check in with Abbott, see what state these apparent fugitives are in."

Hermione glanced back at Holloway as she turned to check he was following her. He was staring after her, his mouth poised to speak.

"Is there something else?"

"Miss Granger, Grant told me not to tell you. It's why he wanted me to find Potter first. I'm not sure why but he made it explicitly clear that he would make my life a misery if I came to you. But then I couldn't find Potter and I know unknown fugitives are a pretty big deal so I just couldn't not say anything." He was rambling, his hands waving around in the air.

She started to walk away. "Holloway I don't have time for this," she shouted back to him.

"Grant knows who they are Miss Granger. I didn't recognise the names but one of them was called Blaise Zabini."

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks. Her breath was caught in her chest, she could feel her pulse quicken as she waited for the second name.

"The other one was Draco Malfoy."

Frantic thoughts whirled around in her head, clambering for attention. Hermione stopped, bracing her hand against the concrete wall next to her and sucked in a jagged breath. She needed to find Harry or Dean, anyone. They had no protocol for this. Of course they had steps in place for when people arrived at their base in need of help. But those were generally muggle borns or people fighting for their side. They definitely didn't have any steps in place for Pure Blood Slytherin fugitives. Running a hand over her face, Hermione felt a hysterical laugh bubbling under the surface, threatening to release itself. In the four years the resistance had been forced to scatter and set up individual bases there had only ever been two defectors and those had been within the first six months of the war.

Pushing against two heavy doors Hermione stepped out into what was known of as the courtyard but what was, in reality, just a barren flat of land between the main buildings that made up their base. She knew that once the place they now called home had been a Muggle secondary school, the sparse concrete structures once a place of learning and laughter. Now it was a quiet place of endless planning and training; with only the guilty ghosts of laughter punctuating the silence every so often. Her eyes scanned the courtyard, searching for anyone else who might be heading to the infirmary.

She jogged down four crumbling steps and turned towards a small, square building with moss covering its roof. "Granger" a rough voice called, the welsh accent adding an extra syllable to her name. She turned her head as Grant came stalking towards her, his six foot frame closing the gap within seconds. "Holloway found you then?" He asked, tipping his head back towards headquarters.

Hermione nodded in response. "Yes, I'm heading to the infirmary now." Grant's eyes narrowed and with a frustrated groan he muttered something about Holloway under his breath. "I believe it is you who has misread the situation here Grant not Holloway. Do you not think it would have been better for me to know beforehand?" Grant's gaze did not waver from hers but she detected a hint of embarrassment in his expression.

"I merely thought that it would be best to find Potter first and then allow him to brief you what with the situation being what it is -"

Hermione raised her hand. "Well your judgement was misplaced. I am second in command and if Harry is unavailable then I am to be contacted immediately." Grant bowed his head, the only admission of guilt he was likely to show. "Especially when the situation, as you so politely put it, involves Death Eaters." Grant flinched at her words, pursing his lips.

Before he could respond Hermione was once again striding towards the Infirmary. With a flick of her wand and a quick "Alohamora" a pair of cracked glass doors swung inwards. She could still feel Grant walking behind her, his need to say something hanging heavily between them.

"Whatever it is you feel the need to say just say it." She was growing very tired of snapping at people. She placed her hand on the broken handlebar of the inner door that blocked the main foyer from view and was just about to push it down when Grant placed his hand on top of hers.

"Be prepared Granger, that's all I'm saying. They must have been desperate to come here and whatever's drove them to us, well it ain't a pretty sight I'll tell you that now." And with that he lifted his hand, turned on his heel and walked back in the direction from which he had appeared.

The infirmary was housed in what Hermione knew was an inadequately small building. It had, in its last life, obviously been used for science and food technology lessons as it's rooms had been full of high benches, ovens, sinks and a plethora of basic scientific apparatus. It had made sense to house the medical ward where the rooms were large, tiled and easy to keep clean. It did mean however that if a battle had taken place or they had a sudden influx of injured people the space was filled to bursting all to quickly.

Today though the building felt deserted, the clinking of the exposed, rusting water pipe the only indication that there were other people there. The foyer was small and it's walls were decorated with doors that lead elsewhere.

Instead of heading towards the door directly in front of her which would take her through a corridor and down to the main ward, Hermione shouldered open the one to her left. The faded sign that indicated its past life as the girls toilets clattered as it swung shut. A single, fluorescent strip bulb lit the dingy room, casting the toilet cubicles into shadow. Hermione pushed against her wrists as she leant on the grimy sink counter top. She stared at herself in the dirt speckled mirror, cursing the fact that they didn't have enough man power to keep anywhere but the most vital rooms clean.

She tried not to make a habit of looking at herself any longer than she had too anymore. Her face looked gaunt. Dark circles ringed her eyes, evidence of the hours she spent reading through notes, battle plans and letters sent from other bases. Her mane of curls she once had to try so hard to control was limp and bedraggled. Four years of fighting just to exist tended to have a rather negative impact on a persons appearance.

The sound of a door creaking open forced her eyes away from her reflection. She waited to see if she heard footsteps of the telltale sign of -

"Hermione?" a voice called. She took one last look at herself, attempting to paint a neutral expression on her features but her furrowed brow betrayed the anxiety that was clawing away at her insides. She grabbed the metal handle and stepped back out into the foyer. She was greeted with a man in a wheelchair. His back was to her but the mop of unruly jet black hair sticking out at all angles lit a spark of warm reassurance in her chest.

"Harry, everyone's been looking for you," she said quietly, not wanting to make him jump. His shoulders visibly loosened and with no apparent physical aid from Harry the wheelchair turned around. A small smile danced briefly across the wizards face but was soon replaced with a frown to mirror Hermione's own.

"I was up at the store house. Colin and Katie have just got back from a supply run and wanted to make sure they were OK. I bumped into Holloway on my back. Managed to get some sense out of him once he stopped waffling on about the fact Grant is going to kill him."

A small chuckle escaped from Hermione and she made a mental note to make sure Grant didn't punish young Holloway for not obeying his orders. "He told you who they are then?" she asked in a small voice.

Harry nodded. His fingers were tapping an uneven rhythm on the arm of his wheelchair, a tell that only Hermione knew meant he was worried. "He told me they were tracked coming in from the west, that's miles out the way of any normal route. There's nothing but thick woodland that way." Of course she already knew this but Harry was talking more to himself than to her.

"Did Holloway say if either of them said anything other than that they were fugitives and who they were?" she asked drawing Harry out of himself.

Harry's green eyes pierced hers with a stare. "From what I can gather they are both in pretty bad shape. Zabini was the one who identified them both, Malfoy was unconscious the whole time. Apparently he just kept repeating himself saying their names, that they were fugitives and begging for help."

Hermione sucked in a breath. Begging for help, from the resistance. What in merlins name was going on?

"They tried to get them both on to separate stretchers but I was told that Zabini would not let go of Malfoy for anything. So they had to sedate him and levitate them both together. Even after he'd knocked out they still couldn't prize his hand off Malfoy's shirt."

Hermione nodded although she wasn't quite sure why. Nothing about what had happened made sense. She leaned down and squeezed Harry's hand before walking past him, heading to the door that would lead them to the ward. She heard the wheels of Harry's wheelchair squeaking as he followed her.

"Hermione." The weight in the way he said her name made her pause but she didn't turn to face him. "If you want me to go and report back to you later I can do, you don't need to go in."

Her eyes burned and she blinked rapidly to try and hold the tears at bay before slowly shaking her head. Her reply came out a little more forceful than she intended but she knew Harry would know it was more for herself than for him.

"No. I need to do this. This is our base and it is our job to keep everyone here safe. We cannot let personal feelings or past events jeopardise what we have here."

She started a little as she felt Harry's fingers brush against hers. She lowered her gaze to see him straining forward in his seat. She offered him another small smile and pushed through the heavy door, steeling herself for what she was about to deal with.

The infirmary's main ward was located in the brightest room the building offered. Large, leaded windows made up two of the outer facing walls which meant the medics who tended to patients could eke out as much daylight as possible. There were eighteen mismatched beds placed in makeshift bays, each separated by a rather haphazard display of screens. Some had been made out of sheets and metal frames, others had sheets hanging from the ceiling. Four of the bays did however have proper screens that Dean and Katie had managed to salvage from a disused hospital on one of their supply runs. Hermione knew that it was the potions, antidotes and other medical supplies that were more important than some of the more superficial needs but she could never smother the grimace that invaded her face whenever she visited the ward.

Hannah Abbott lifted her hand up in acknowledgment as Hermione and Harry slowly made their way over to the sink she was working at. She worked a bloody bandage between her hands, wringing out the excess water into the basin. Hermione shuddered slightly as some of the murky water ran down Hannah's forearms, leaving faint blood tinted streaks in its wake.

"I'm still cleaning them up. I haven't even thought about doing spell-tests to diagnose any unseen injuries," she reported before either Harry or Hermione could say a word. Without breaking from her task Hannah added, "There's so much blood and muck it is going to take me hours to get them cleaned up and treat their surface wounds." She let out a sigh as she flicked her hands above the sink and grabbed the starch linen towel from the hanging rail above her head.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak but Hannah turned to face them and held her gaze. "That one is in a very bad way," jerking her head towards the closest bay. Bile rose in Hermione's throat as she clocked a pale foot sticking out at an angle she knew wasn't right. The alabaster skin giving away to which body it belonged. Pulling her gaze away she looked at Hannah who had placed a gentle hand on her arm.

"I can tell you without running any tests whatsoever that he has many historic injuries. He could have been anyone the amount of dirt and dried blood he was covered in, had it not been for that bloody shock of hair."

Hermione's vision swam as she took in the meaning of Hannah's words. Before the thought could even form properly in her mind Harry spoke, his voice gruff and low, "Torture then?" Hannah nodded and glanced back at her patients.

"Yes, likely years of it from what I can gather at this stage." With her statement hanging between them she turned around, grabbed a stack of cloths, a bucket full of soapy water and started towards the bay. Instinctively Hermione followed. Harry grabbed her sleeve and rolled in front of her. Hermione glanced at his face and was met with a concerned gaze.

"We need to identify them ourselves. We need to double check and then we need to make a plan," she told him, placing more emphasis on the word we every time she said it. Harry nodded solemnly and Hannah stepped aside to let him past. Hermione stepped forward and Hannah gave her a reassuring nod as she followed Harry to the furthest bay.

Blaise Zabini lay stretched out on the bed, his dark green t-shirt cut open to showcase a landscape of welts and bruises on his dark brown skin. Harry positioned himself alongside his left side. It was a formality that needed to be carried out. Hermione knew that is was Zabini but they needed to be thorough. Harry carefully grasped Zabini's left wrist in his hand, gently twisting the arm towards him and Hermione forced herself to focus on the lower part of the forearm.

There it was, the mark that made the unconscious, injured young man now in their care one of their enemies. Hermione counted to ten in her head, breathing in and out slowly so as not to bolt straight from the room. "Unknown fugitive officially identified as Death Eater Blaise Zabini," Harry stated though there was no one else there to witness it.

Hannah stepped from around the screen that separated the two bays and wipe her hands on the small apron tied around her waist. "I've cleaned up his arm as best I could though I doubt you'll need that to identify him," she said quietly. Harry made his way over to the bed but Hermione stood, rooted to the spot. She needed to do this. She was second in command, the person so many who lived in the base looked up to because of her strength. She would not allow herself to falter.

Taking a steadying breath Hermione stepped around the screen and lifted her eyes from the floor to the bed. Hannah was right, if it weren't for the shock of white blond hair then it could have been very difficult to identify him. His foot was quite clearly not his only broken bone. His right wrist was double the size it should be and the deep purple bruises peppered along his torso were the tell tale sign of multiple broken ribs. Her eyes scanned the rest of his body, mentally cataloguing the welts, gashes and bruises that covered him.

She was studying a particular deep gash on his right thigh when she heard Harry gasp. Snapping her head up she saw Harry gripping a limp left hand in his, with the forearm twisted towards him. Hermione once again forced herself to look at the exposed skin and her stomach flipped. Instead of the intact mark they had found on Zabini's arm this one was almost completely mutilated with cuts and scratches. Some had scabbed over but others were clearly fresh, droplets of blood pooling in the deepest of the wounds.

Hermione looked at Hannah who was stood holding his other arm up, her hands gently spreading his fingers apart so his fingernails were visible.

They were blunt. Hermione could see the tips were stained burgundy with old, dried blood. Her pulse raged in her ears and her mouth watered as her stomach roiled.

"Those injuries appear to be self inflicted," Hannah all but whispered. "I think he was trying to rip it off."

Hermione could stand there no longer. She whipped around and bolted for the door, breathing heavily through her nose. The last thing she heard before she clattered through the door was Harry's voice hitch as he said "Unknown fugitive identified as Draco Malfoy"

As she emptied the contents of her stomach on to the bright red tiles of the corridor floor all she could think about was the fact that he hadn't called Malfoy a Death Eater.


End file.
